Christmas hath made an end
Welladay, welladay;
Which was my dearest friend,
More is the pity.
For with an heavy heart
I must from thee depart
To follow plough and cart
All the year after.

Lent is coming fast on,
Welladay, welladay,
That loves not anyone
More is the pity.
For I doubt both my cheeks
Will look thin eating leeks:
Wise is he then that seeks
For a friend in a corner.

All our good cheer is gone,
Welladay, welladay;
And turnèd to a bone,
More is the pity.
In my good master's house
I shall eat no more souse:
Then give me one carouse,
Gentle kind butler.

It grieves me to the heart,
Welladay, welladay,
From my friend to depart,
More is the pity:
Christmas, I mean, 'tis thee,
That thus forsaketh me;
yet till one hour I see
Will I be merry.